


Bring Me Roses

by Shinsun



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: As The Old Adage Says...There Will Be Sex, Author Has Done Their Research, Author Has No Chill, Author Stayed Up Multiple Nights Past 2 AM Looking Up Bouquets, Background RikoMomo, But Like...The Flipside of What You Might Expect, Implied/Referenced Minor Character Death, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating To Be Changed Shortly, Some Heavy-handed Flower Symbolism, Subtext, Tattoos and Piercings, What Else Do You Expect From This AU, florist/tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shinsun/pseuds/Shinsun
Summary: "Your hands are quite rough for what ought to be gentle work."Daiki sputtered,"Gentle?You've never had to cut long stem roses before, have you?"Kuroko's lips turned up in one of his tiny, enigmatic smiles, "Can't say that I have."--The florist/tattoo artist AU literally no one asked for, where Aomine is the florist and Kuroko is the tattoo artist. They just happen to enter each other's orbit while Aomine is out running an errand for Momoi, and find that they may have more in common than expected.





	Bring Me Roses

 

 

_Dahlia_

 

It was entirely too early in the morning for the automated chime of the front door to be filtering into the backroom. Too early for even the most bushy-tailed of customers, and though he did sometimes entertain the idea that no one who set foot in his shop actually knew how to read, Daiki thought the glaring red ‘ _CLOSED’_ sign over the handle should have deterred most people.

 

Satsuki wasn’t most people.

 

“Dai-chan!” The cheery, shameless disruption of peace and quiet and all things sacred and good carried over the faint swish of the door always marked and always disregarded as _‘employees only’_ , for probably the tenth time this week, “You busy?”

 

Daiki looked up at her beaming face, a burning lighter in one hand and the freshly cut stems of a cool half-dozen white dahlias in the other, because he _very obviously was._

 

“What do you want?”

 

“I need a favor,” Satsuki sang, weaving her way around cardboard boxes and swaying towers of pails and pots to plant herself firmly between Daiki and his work.

 

“When do you _not --?”_ Daiki began, before breaking off with a curse as the unattended flame licked at his thumb, which he immediately jammed into his mouth. “Just do it yourself,” he growled around the burned skin, “I’m working.”

 

“You don’t open for forty minutes,” Satsuki pointed out, “It’s for later, anyway.”

 

“I’ll be working _later_ , too.” Switching the bundle of stems to his other hand, he kicked the flame back to life and seared the end of each one, before immediately dunking them into a bucket of water at his feet.

 

Satsuki was wrinkling her nose at him when he looked back up, momentarily distracted from her mission.

 

“What?” he asked, seizing another handful of blooms from their cold plastic wrappings.

 

“Why are you _burning_ them?”

 

“Why are you barging in at ass-thirty a.m. to ask favors without even bringing me coffee?” Daiki retorted, reaching for his shears, “It’s just what you do.”

 

“I’ll bribe you next time,” Satsuki said, parking her hip against the counter, for want of any available space to sit, “The good stuff, not the instant crap I get for free.”

 

Daiki snorted a laugh as he angled the shears over the remaining flowers, “Sure, you’ve been saying that for a couple millennia, but I still never see any damn coffee. Instant or not.”

 

“Because you don't like coffee, Dai-chan.” Satsuki rolled her eyes, putting in no effort whatsoever to hide it.

 

“Well I also don't like being your errand boy all the time,” Daiki grunted, snipping off the ends of the stems in quick, irritable succession. “So what d’you need me to do so bad?”

 

Satsuki responded by dropping a key ring on the counter, amid the scattered excess of stems and leaves and petals that covered its surface

 

“I need you to drop this off for Ricchan,” she said, all business now that she was getting her way, “I lost the spare so it’s the only copy we have.”

 

“Why can’t you just give it to her yourself?” Daiki complained, even as he slipped the key into his back pocket and picked up his lighter again.

 

“Her shift doesn’t start until noon, and by the time she gets off, I’ll be in class and she'll be locked out,” Satsuki explained, pushing her hair out of her eyes to grin at him, visibly grateful for all of three seconds before it started to turn wicked, “You know, I keep telling you you should check out her workplace, this is the perfect opportunity.”

 

“‘ _Perfect opportunity’_ my ass, all you’re doing is making me waste my lunch doing your dirty work for you,” Daiki grumbled, “Where is this place?”

 

“Here, I’ll give you the address,” Satsuki said, her smirk not losing intent as she fished out a business card and placed it right where she’d dropped the key before.

 

Daiki paused a moment in his methodical searing and hydrating to squint at the spiky black print suspiciously, “A tattoo parlor?”

 

“Honestly,” Satsuki sighed, folding her arms, “I know you never listen, but don’t you at least look?”

 

“Just ‘cause someone _has_ tattoos doesn’t mean they _do_ tattoos,” Daiki pointed out, snatching up the card before Satsuki could reply, “Though I guess in this case they do. Looks like it’s right up the street...”

 

“So you’ll do it?” Satsuki asked, with a prematurely victorious show of her dimples.

 

Daiki heaved a dramatic sigh and stored the card away where he’d put the key, “Fine, but you owe me.”

 

“I’ll bring you croissants next time I come in,” Satsuki promised, “The chocolate ones Kagamin makes.”

 

“Tch. I can’t stand that guy,” Daiki scowled, running the open flame over the tip of the last stem and placing it with the rest of its brethren.

 

“And yet last time I brought them, you ate over half the box,” Satsuki reminded him, looking far too pleased with herself as she toyed with one of the discarded petals on the counter.

 

“I can like croissants without liking the guy who made them,” Daiki said defensively, and that was that. Shoving to his feet, he swept the mess of plant material off of his workspace and grabbed the bucket of dahlias by the handle, heading for the door. Satsuki followed him with a distinct skip in her step.

 

The front room of the store was no less crowded than the back, nor any more organized, with hanging baskets of ferns and vines pouring from the ceiling, overlooking rows and rows of tall metal pails that practically exploded with hundreds of bright, fresh-cut flowers of all varieties, from colorful spears of gladiolus, to uniform clumps of heather and lilac, to little white wisps of baby’s breath. It looked like a jungle, and smelled like fucking heaven. Even Daiki couldn't become noseblind to the daily barrage of competing perfumes, no matter how many hours into months and eventually years he worked.

 

Daiki set the bucket in his hand down on the counter beside the register, before rotating out a less recent display of gardenias and setting them in the window, where they might wilt faster, but would hopefully draw enough attention to be sold before then. Then he rounded on Satsuki.

 

“Are you going to hang around all day, or what?”

 

Satsuki hesitated, rubbing her shoe against the back of her calf and pretending to be really interested in the begonias by the checkout.

 

“Well I have to get to work too, soon,” she reasoned slowly, straightening, “But I thought you could use the company.”

 

Daiki’s eyes narrowed, “I don’t need a babysitter,” he muttered, pushing aside a strand of ivy trailing in front of his face, “I definitely don’t need you sticking around just to pester me.”  

 

“I just...want to make sure you’re alright, here by yourself,” Satsuki said, bold and far too knowing with her sharp, unyielding eyes.

 

“For the last time, I’m fine,” Daiki said firmly, attempting to stare her down, before recognizing a futile endeavor and averting his gaze, “Besides, I’m not by myself, Shige and Ryo should be here in a few minutes. And until then I’d like some peace and quiet.”

 

“You told me you hate quiet.”

 

Despite his best efforts, Daiki thought he might have flinched, just a little, both at her tone and the unspoken reminder. Her softening expression told him that he must have.

 

“Yeah, well...things change,” he said gruffly, shaking it off with practiced ease and glancing at the clock, “It’s almost a quarter to eight anyway, don’t you have a kitchen to burn down or something?”

 

“That was _one time!_ ” Satsuki protested, taking the bait and going a furious shade of red that put the begonias to shame, “And I just caught an apron on fire, that’s all.”

 

“Yeah, and Kagami’s eyebrow, from what I heard,” Daiki taunted, baring his teeth gleefully, “Shame you couldn’t burn those ridiculous things off while you were at it.”

 

“Okay, Dai-chan,” Satsuki sighed, but she was smiling faintly now, “If that’s really how you feel, then fine, I’ll leave you to it.”

 

“Fucking finally,” Daiki said. Maybe he’d get some actual work done before opening, after all.

 

Satsuki shook her head to herself on the way to the door, propping it open with her shoulder. “Let me know how it goes at Ricchan’s, though, won’t you?” she asked over the tone of the bell.

 

“I’m just bringing her a key, not taking her on a date,” Daiki snorted, returning to the dahlias and idly arranging them to his liking, “That’s your job.”

 

“I know, but still...” she said, with an echo of a smirk in her voice, “You never know.”

 

_Lily_

 

Daiki pushed yet another attempted vase aside in disgust. For fuck’s sake, he _knew_ how to do this. He knew what accents paired well with subtle shades, and exactly how much or how little filler to use, he knew how to set a tone and convey a feeling with variations in color and size, and even work in symbolism when it was called for. He was damn good at it too -- and not just in his own opinion -- but for all that this arrangement should have been child’s play, nothing he tried seemed to be working.

 

He glared at a slightly-off-center white individual in front. He could put white flowers with fucking anything, and dahlias in particular were very forgiving, but all his efforts so far experimenting with darker accents and sprays of greenery just felt pathetic and predictable. If it was a random customer’s arrangement, he might not have given a damn, but this was supposed to be personal.    

 

Finally giving the struggle up for lost, he shoved away from the counter and turned his back on another day’s failure, which would no doubt go unsold and be left to slowly rot like the rest.

 

“I’m taking my lunch, Ryo,” he announced as he passed by the register, untying his apron behind his back.

 

“O-of course, Aomine-san,” Ryo stammered, fingers fumbling over the sheaf of paper he was folding around a bunch of Easter lilies for an anxious looking older woman, “You’re going out?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Daiki said grimly, yanking the apron over his head, “Gotta run an errand. You sure you’ve got things under control here?”

 

“Yes! I’m sorry!” Ryo scrambled to say, abandoning the lilies in order to bow to him contritely. Daiki rolled his eyes to the ceiling, before tilting his head with a meaningful grimace in the direction of the customer. Ryo took the hint, and hastened to return to his task without another word. At least he was learning.

 

Passing the message along to Shige as he swept through the backroom, Daiki gathered up his wallet and phone and threw on his jacket before punching himself out.

 

“You probably don’t have to keep doing that,” Shige pointed out, emerging for a moment from the walk-in cooler. Daiki spared him a glance, timecard still in hand. “Just, y’know, since you’re the only one keeping track now.”

 

Sliding the card back into its slot, Daiki sniffed with the kind of bored indifference that was easy to fake, “Why don’t you let me worry about that,” he said, rolling his shoulders to loosen them up as he turned to leave, “I’ll be back in an hour, try not to put me out of business while I’m gone.”

 

“Hardy har,” Shige muttered, and got back to work. Daiki left him to it.

 

It was lucky the tattoo parlor wasn’t far; Daiki figured he’d probably be able to scrape enough time for something to eat before he had to return. The place itself, when he did finally find it, was situated snugly in between two other shops, modest and powder blue and easy to accidentally glance over. The only truly eye-catching features were a handful of posters blown up in the windows, depicting intricate designs of animals, trees and the like in living color. It proclaimed itself, in the same bold, spiky script as its business card, ‘ _PHANTOM TATTOO’,_ which sounded a lot spookier than the pastel little shop actually was.

 

Inside, it seemed cozy, with a row of comfortable-looking chairs set out for waiting customers in front, and a bright, spotless work area toward the back. The walls were decorated with more larger-than-life examples of tattoos that one could theoretically get, along with a helpful printed guide for times and price ranges. There was some kind of soft, classical music playing over the speakers on the ceiling. Daiki, having never set foot in a tattoo parlor in his life, found himself thinking that this wasn’t even close to what he’d pictured.

 

“Can I help you, sir?” a cool, polite voice asked, from somewhere on Daiki’s right. He jumped and whipped around.

 

Near the window was a small table he hadn’t noticed at first, with two of those comfortable-looking chairs set on either end of it. And sitting in one of them was, he assumed, the owner of the voice, whom he had also failed to notice.

 

He couldn’t help but do a double-take now that he did, though. The guy was slight in stature and pale, a far cry from the kind of massive, tattooed hunk he’d imagined might work here -- even Riko had him beat as far as muscle mass, he thought -- but even so, there was something quietly fierce about his appearance. In the elaborate full sleeves put on display by the faded denim vest he wore, perhaps, or the daunting array of piercings that adorned his ears and face...to say nothing of intense blue eyes, currently snared with a purpose on Daiki’s own.

 

“Um,” he said, eloquently, fumbling for the reason for his visit while he continued to stare, because now that he looked, the guy was actually really hot _._ No two ways about it.

 

“Are you here to make an appointment?” the hot guy prompted patiently, setting down the pencil he had been tapping against his lower lip, drawing Daiki’s eye immediately to the silver studs embedded on either side of his thoughtfully frowning mouth.

 

“Uh...no,” Daiki said, forcing out a short, airy laugh and clearing his throat, “I’m uh...looking for Aida Riko, she started at noon today...?”

 

“Ah. Aida-san is currently with a client.” One richly embellished arm lifted from the table to gesture to the back of the shop, where Daiki could just glimpse the top of Riko’s latest undercut peeking out behind the tall black obstruction of a counter, “Did you want to wait for her, or is there something I can do for you in her stead?”

 

“I’m just dropping something off,” Daiki shrugged. And he was about to grab the key out of his pocket and have the guy hand it over to Riko for him when he considered that one, Satsuki would probably kill him if he left the only key to her apartment in the possession a total stranger, and two, he suddenly didn’t want to relinquish the only excuse he had for being here. “I’ll wait.”

 

“Very well,” the guy said, and it was totally unfair that Daiki only noticed the physical heat of his gaze as it abruptly cooled when he looked away, “Please, have a seat while you wait, and make yourself comfortable.”  

 

Daiki sat down in one of the chairs, which he quickly found weren’t nearly as comfortable as they looked, and watched as the guy set the pencil in his hand to the page of the sketchbook in front of him that Daiki hadn’t seen, having been too distracted by ink and piercings and icy blue eyes.      

 

For several minutes, the only sounds were the weird classical shit coming from the speakers, the crackling background hum of what he assumed was a working tattoo gun, and the dry, irregular scratching of pencil on paper.

 

Now that he was closer, and no longer caught in the insistent pull of his gaze, Daiki could make out some of the details of the guy’s sleeve, shifting and distorting just so as his arm moved across the page. Deep green vines coiled around one elbow, splitting off into tendrils and blossoms and wide, veiny leaves that hid flashes of stripes and slitted eyes in their shadows. Up toward his shoulder a cluster of tiger lilies, vivid as autumn leaves, fanned out across his skin, interspersed with bursts of blue morning glories that, if anything, were just as bright.  

 

That was different...

 

“What’s your name?” Daiki asked suddenly, turning his attention to the guy’s face just in time to catch him with his tongue between his teeth, staring down at his sketchbook with intensive focus. Then the spell broke as he blinked and looked up.

 

“I apologize,” he said matter-of-factly, setting his pencil down without saying what for, “Kuroko Tetsuya, I’m assistant manager here. And I’m curious to know who you are; a friend of Aida-san’s?”

 

“Only by proximity,” Daiki admitted, smirking, “Her fiancée and I were brats together. My name’s Aomine Daiki, I uh...work down the street.”

 

“Come to think of it,” Kuroko said soberly, “I think I remember Momoi-san mentioning a ‘Dai-chan’ once or twice, when she came in. No relation?”

 

“Yeah no, that’s me,” Daiki laughed, if only to cover a flash of annoyance that Satsuki apparently talked about him so freely when he wasn’t around. Enough for any random person within earshot to pick up on it.

 

“The florist?” Kuroko asked, quirking an eyebrow. His eyes really gave nothing away. It was a little unnerving.

 

“Yeah,” Daiki said, fidgeting with his hands in his lap where he sat, “Family business, I got drafted into it.”

 

“I see.” Kuroko looked him up and down slowly, like he didn’t quite buy the brief summary and was trying to extract the details by force. It reminded Daiki almost uncannily of Satsuki’s penchant for ferreting out his secrets.

 

“I was…” he began hurriedly, feeling strangely naked and exposed under the close scrutiny, “Just looking at your tattoos, the tiger lilies…”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I just...think it’s interesting. Usually I’d put orange flowers with something white or green so they don’t clash,” Daiki scrambled to explain, “But you went with…” _Heavenly blue._ And it didn’t look awful. In fact, it was like the aggressive hues brought out the best in each other.

 

Kuroko glanced down at his own shoulder curiously, “Well I’m not much of a flower expert myself,” he said, “I suppose it mostly came down to color theory, and personal taste.”

 

“Color theory?”

 

Kuroko’s pierced lips tilted up in a tiny smile, “I’ve always thought complementary pairs work together best.”

 

 _Oh shit_ , Daiki thought. He was in serious trouble.

 

“That...looks like it would hurt,” he said faintly, with a vague gesture around his own mouth that had suddenly gone dry.

 

Kuroko seemed to catch on to the change of subject, and, wonder of wonders, his tongue was peeking out of the corner of his mouth to absently probe at one of the studs at its corner.

 

“Hm. Not anymore,” he said, showing a fleeting flash of teeth as he smiled again.

 

Daiki didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know if he could speak at all anymore, actually, in the face of that. His throat felt abnormally thick, his face hot. And it turned out he didn’t have to.

 

“They’re called dahlia bites, apparently,” Kuroko went on conversationally, and Daiki blinked, in the exact same instant that another person came to join them in the front of the shop.

 

“Tetsu-kun, have you seen the #6 needle bars…?” Riko began, before catching sight of Daiki and trailing off, a grin loaded with schadenfreude exploding across her face, “Well, then! Look who finally decided to come by! Took you long enough, asshole, Suki’s only been hinting since, like, forever.”

 

She crossed her arms over her chest, and though they weren’t quite as heavily inked as Kuroko’s, they were still impressive, revealed in all their glory by her dark gray tank.  

 

Daiki got up, with some reluctance, and pulled the key ring out of his back pocket, “I’m just bringing this. Satsuki made me.”

 

“Oh right, her night class,” Riko said, but the look she shot at Kuroko was entirely too cunning for Daiki’s liking. For his part, Kuroko showed no comprehension, but Daiki had already established that he was good at hiding his reactions, so that wasn’t exactly comforting.

 

“Well thanks,” she went on teasingly, taking the proffered key and tucking it in her own pocket, “It’d really suck if I had to sleep here tonight, though I’m sure Tetsu-kun wouldn’t mind.”

 

“That’s not my call to make,” Kuroko said, completely unmoved by her batting her lashes at him, “And I am sure Momoi-san would return from her class before you would have to do that.”

 

“Hmph. Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of a killjoy?” Riko grinned, leaning down to muss up Kuroko’s hair, to his apparent resigned disgruntlement.

 

“The smaller gauges are stored with the other spare needles,” he said, calmly despite the headlock Riko was trying to put him in, “In the lower drawer to the left.”

 

“I checked, it’s empty.”

 

“Then there may be some in backstock,” Kuroko said, “Check for any boxes labeled #6. If there are none, let me know, and I’ll place an order.”

 

“See, that’s why you’re the boss!” Riko released him, still grinning, and stepped back. “Alright then, I should get back to work, or this stingray won’t get done ‘til after New Years. Thanks again, Aomine!”

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Daiki scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets, “Tell your girlfriend to stop making me her gofer all the damn time.”

 

“She’s my _fianc_ _ée_ , first of all,” Riko threw over her shoulder, “And second, she says it’s good for you to get out of that shop sometimes, so nope!”

 

Feeling betrayed, Daiki turned back to Kuroko, who was now looking down at his sketchbook, resting the end his pencil against his pierced lips. ... _Dahlia bites, huh?_ He glanced distractedly at the sketchbook that had previously been obscured by Kuroko’s elbows -- barely able to discern the abstract shapes of leaves and branches upside down -- and then let his eyes travel up the twisted path of vines on his arm to the bright, permanently living flowers blooming from his shoulder.

 

“Can you --?” he began, breaking off when he realized he didn’t know what he intended to ask. He felt like he didn’t know himself around this guy, and it was weird, but at the same time, he didn’t exactly hate it. “Um. Do you think...you could do a tattoo from a real arrangement?”

 

Kuroko looked up, and tilted his head slightly, a question written on his face.

 

“Like. Say I brought in some flowers or something,” Daiki went on haltingly, trying much too hard to keep his voice casual and feeling the back of his neck heat up, “Could you make a tattoo out of that?”     

 

“Hmm,” Kuroko said, drawing out the sound as his importunate gaze drifted to the ceiling and its muffled cello music, “It’s a little unorthodox…but yes, I think I could make something work.”

 

Daiki hesitated where he stood, trying to figure out what his brain was actually considering. He’d never really had any interest in tattoos, or indeed any desire to be around needles and all that sterile, medical-looking shit, Satsuki had pointed that out enough times when he refused to accompany her to get hers done. But...maybe this was what he was missing, in his attempts to create something real and personal; it was all too temporary, and ultimately meaningless. And he couldn’t help thinking that another pair of eyes, no matter how perceptive and impossible to read, might also make the process interesting.    

 

“Is that a roundabout way of asking for an appointment?” Kuroko broke into his train of thought, seeming amused, in his own way.

 

“I...yeah, I guess,” Daiki said, scratching a hand through his hair, “When can I come in?”

 

So he didn’t end up having time for something to eat during his lunch, after all. But, as he finally left the tattoo parlor behind and headed back up the street, he couldn't help thinking that it had at least been worth the trip.

 

_Orchid_

 

The next time Satsuki came into the shop, Daiki had long since closed for the night. The door wasn’t locked yet, for safety reasons, and that was all the invitation she apparently needed to saunter right in.

 

This time, though, he couldn’t hear the bell warning him of her arrival over the music he was blasting over the speakers. All the coarse, loud stuff he didn’t get to play while there were customers present. It was hardly Mozart, but it helped him focus, and at least part of him secretly thought it was good for the flowers too.

 

He wasn’t expecting it, and so he jumped clear off the ground when she spoke up from right behind him.

 

“Dai-chan!”

 

He barely saved the pail of very expensive orchids he was balancing in one hand from crashing to floor. Forcefully setting it down on the counter, sloshing water over the rim, he whirled around to face her.

 

“What?” He had to raise his voice over the thudding bass, and Satsuki just looked at him, unimpressed, until he cursed and ducked into the backroom to shut it off.

 

“What are you still doing here?” she asked once it was quiet, having followed him around to the back of the store.

 

“Better question, what are _you_ doing here?” Daiki shot back, receiving an armful of cardboard baker box that frankly smelled delicious in response. He almost fumbled it, and Satsuki just propped her hands on her hips and watched, unhelpfully.

 

“I owed you for the other day, remember?”

 

“Well...yeah, but,” Daiki grumbled, already digging into the box with one hand while he glared at her, “I was expecting you to come in the morning.”

 

“You expected me to give you chocolate for breakfast?” Satsuki asked, before shaking off her front of superiority and forging ahead, “I was just going to pick up Ricchan and saw you through the window, still working for some reason.”

 

“Right,” Daiki said, decidedly unconvinced, and took a huge bite of croissant. The chocolate flakiness melted in his mouth and he sighed in pleasure.

 

“And _heard_ you,” Satsuki insisted, “I’m pretty sure the whole street did, I thought you weren’t allowed to play your own music in the store?”

 

Daiki shrugged and said, through a mouthful of croissant, “My rules now.”

 

“I don’t think Auntie would like to hear you say that.”

 

Daiki swallowed, a wad of pastry sticking in his throat, and shut the box in his hands, “Did you actually want something? Or are you just here to be a pain in the ass, as usual?”

 

“I wanted...to see how you’re doing,” Satsuki said carefully, “You didn’t get back to me after you went to see Ricchan, and you’ve been staying past closing almost every night since.”

 

“Wow, Satsuki, nosy much?” Daiki drawled, setting the box aside, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve been busy with something.”

 

Satsuki’s gaze swept over the haphazard collection of bouquet vases behind the register, most of them holding bunches of rejected flowers; white lilies, tulips, roses, in various states of decay.

 

“You know there is such a thing as overdoing it,” Satsuki said, “Is this about the funeral? I know you weren’t happy with --”

 

“It’s not about that,” Daiki cut her off, hunching his shoulders, “I’ve...got an appointment later this week.”

 

“Wha --?”

 

“For a tattoo,” he clarified quickly, in an attempt to stem the flood of concern on her face, “To get a sketch done, anyway, I just wanted to --”

 

“You’re getting a tattoo?” Satsuki interrupted, “ _Y_ _ou,_ Dai-chan?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daiki asked, drawing up indignantly, “You have tattoos, why can’t I get one?”

 

“I...never mind,” Satsuki said, looking like she was fighting a smile, “My fiancée's a tattoo artist, so I’ve got an excuse. Who’s doing yours?”

 

Daiki faltered, because the question didn’t seem directly relevant, but Satsuki was squinting at him as though she were piecing together a puzzle.

 

“This...guy,” he said, scratching his cheek and fearing he was walking right into her trap, “Said his name was Kuroko.”

 

“Tetsu-kun?” Satsuki exclaimed, victoriously, and Daiki wanted to cover his eyes and groan in despair because that settled it. He was doomed. “That makes sense… Flowers, right?”

 

It was entirely unnecessary for her to waggle her eyebrows at him like that. He’d already gotten the message.

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. _Fucking flowers._

 

_Daffodil_

 

“Out to lunch again, Aomine?” Shige asked as Daiki passed by him, slinging his arm through the sleeve of his jacket.

 

“Yeah,” he said shortly, stopping behind the register to scoop up his latest project, already wrapped and ready to go in plain brown paper, unable to keep from frowning at it in distaste. Whatever. It would have to do for now.

 

“Ooh, where at?” Shige pressed, looking over his shoulder in order to keep him in sight.

 

“Mind your own business,” Daiki huffed, tucking the arrangement into his elbow, “That ribbon isn’t going to cut itself, you know.”

 

“You’re such a tyrant,” Shige smirked, reaching for the scissors, “...And not even a little bit subtle.”

 

Daiki stopped in surprise at that, “What do you mean?”

 

Shige surprised him further by grinning and tipping him an enormous wink, “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

 

Still confounded, Daiki glanced down at the bouquet of pre-wrapped flowers in his arms, and then scowled when it finally hit him. _Oh, for fuck’s sake._

 

“It’s not like that,” he protested, feeling his face start to heat up in absolute _betrayal_...

 

“That’s the spirit!” Shige said, snipping off a roll of bright pink ribbon with apparent glee.

 

“Remind me to fire you when I get back,” Daiki growled, and turned on his heel to leave, Shige’s laughter chasing him out the door.

 

Feeling a little foolish now, walking down the street with an obvious armload of flowers, Daiki attempted to hide them in the bulk of his jacket, a task he soon found to be impossible without bending or crushing them. Sighing explosively, he resigned himself to barging into the tattoo parlor looking like the missing half of a goddamn cheesy romantic comedy. At least the brown paper probably said post office more than it said date night; thank fuck for small mercies.

 

“Oh, good afternoon, Aomine-kun,” Kuroko greeted him as the door chimed to announce his arrival, raising a gloved hand from where he was leaning over the exposed back of a moderately inked young man, tattoo gun in hand, “You’re quite early.”

 

“I just got on lunch,” Daiki muttered, extremely conscious of the paper bundle in his arms, and how natural the tattoo machine looked between Kuroko’s slender fingers, “Should I like...check in or something?”

 

“No need, please just take a seat,” Kuroko said, with a faint, amused smile, “I’ll be with you in a moment.” Tilting the machine in his grasp to a more comfortable position, he bent his head and resumed working without further ado.

 

Suppressing a sudden flutter of nerves, Daiki did as he was told, plopping down at the low table Kuroko had been sketching at during his last visit, setting the flowers down in front of him and dropping his chin into his hand. From here, he didn’t exactly have a perfect view of what Kuroko was doing, but he could still hear the buzz of the tattoo gun, and see the muscles of the man’s back tense up ever so slightly when the needles made contact with his skin. Every now and again, Kuroko would pause to adjust his grip or push his bangs out of his eyes, but otherwise, he seemed completely engrossed in his task, focused and silent.

 

For awhile, Daiki was content to just watch him work, mesmerized by the subtle flex of his lavishly decorated arms beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt, until at last he stood back, seeming to observe his own handiwork for a moment, before setting down his instrument and pulling off his gloves. He carefully wiped down the man’s back, letting him sit up straight and twist around to admire it in the mirror, before he wrapped a sheet of cling film around the new tattoo.     

 

“Alright, Kasuga-san, come back in next week and we’ll start on color,” he said, patting the guy on the shoulder, “Remember to keep up with your moisturizing.”

 

Then he turned his attention on Daiki, his clear blue eyes seeming to brighten with interest as they landed on him, and his parcel on the table.

 

“Are you ready, Aomine-kun?”

 

Daiki fidgeted with the paper wrappings, trying not to stare at the shape the lip piercings made when Kuroko said his name.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, pulling the flowers toward himself, “One second.”

 

The corner of Kuroko’s mouth quirked up, but his eyes didn’t lose intensity, “I’ll get my sketchbook.”

 

When he returned, Daiki had unwrapped the brown paper and spread it out, letting his newest arrangement lie in the center of it, the stems all pulled close together, straight and evenly cut, the leaves fanning out from a dense cluster of white and blue and purple blossoms, lush and full and maybe just a little crumpled around the edges from their journey.

 

Kuroko looked them over as he approached with one long, slow, continuous sweep of his gaze, biting his lip thoughtfully as he sank into the chair opposite Daiki.

 

“These are beautiful,” he said at last, brushing the pad of his finger against one of the ferns at the base of the display, looking to Daiki as though seeking permission to touch. Normally Daiki would discourage it, but considering some of the petals were already a bit battered, and this was just for sketching purposes anyway, he gave a short nod of assent.

 

Some of the rigid perfection fell away as Kuroko hooked his fingers under a sprig of delphinium, lifting it away from the others just slightly as though inspecting it, a quizzical look on his face.

 

“Is this what you want done?” he asked, releasing the specimen to encompass the whole arrangement with a gesture.

 

“Yeah...I mean...sort of?” Daiki amended, rubbing the back of his neck as he scrutinized his work, “Something like that, anyway.”

 

Kuroko frowned, without breaking eye contact, and then shook his head, “That won’t do. This isn’t something you can easily take back if you don’t like the results. It’s going to be permanent, so it should be something you know for certain that you want.”

 

Daiki had a moment to wonder how many people he’d given that exact same lecture to. He crossed his arms.

 

“Well I’ve been working on it all week,” he said, somewhat defensively, “Nothing felt exactly right, but this is the best I’ve got.”

 

“So what’s missing?” Kuroko asked, blinking up at him.

 

Daiki rolled his eyes, “If I knew _that_ , then there wouldn’t be a problem...”

 

“There’s no need to rush, you know,” Kuroko said, looking down at the flowers laid out between them, “You shouldn’t just settle for what you think is the best you can do.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means,” Kuroko said patiently, “That I can help you work on it, until it’s something we both can be satisfied with.”

 

Daiki looked at him for a moment, and then looked back at the clutch of flowers, trying to see them as something permanent, something fixed and unchanging that he could still look back on and be proud of. Somehow he couldn’t quite get there.

 

“Okay,” he said, tentatively, “What would you start with?”

 

“Well…” Kuroko said, drawing it out as he stroked his chin slowly. Daiki noticed for the first time that he was wearing black nail polish, “You have them all together in a very close, orderly fashion. Which works well for a bouquet as a gift, I'd imagine, but as a composition for a tattoo...it could use more variety, I think.”

 

“Variety,” Daiki echoed, setting his hands on the table.

 

“Yes, more disorder; more chaos, if you will,” Kuroko suggested, before reaching out and, after checking Daiki’s willingness, shifting some of the stems and leaves around, so that they splayed out in different directions, “It makes it more interesting to look at.”

 

“Okay, noted,” Daiki said, fighting back a wave of stubbornness in the face of critique, “But that doesn’t --”

 

“You could also use more variety in terms of color,” Kuroko interrupted, hovering a hand over the stems before settling on one of the dahlias, “For instance, what if you took out -- ?”

 

Without thinking, Daiki reached out to grasp his wrist, “No.”

 

Kuroko looked up, his eyes going wider than Daiki had seen them before, his mouth frozen slightly open.

 

“...Those stay,” Daiki said firmly, and released him.

 

Lowering his hand, Kuroko settled back into his seat. He didn’t look offended or upset, but his eyebrows were still drawn tight together over his brooding gaze.

 

“I see.”

 

For a few seconds, neither of them said anything, and just looked at the array of flowers on the table in silence. Then Kuroko sought his gaze again, rubbing absently at his wrist.

 

“Your hands are quite rough for what ought to be gentle work.”

 

Daiki sputtered, “ _Gentle?_ You’ve never had to cut long stem roses before, have you?”

 

Kuroko’s lips turned up in one of his tiny, enigmatic smiles, “Can’t say that I have.”

 

“Yeah, well, try it sometime, and try not to get stabbed by a million fucking thorns,” Daiki snorted, sitting back in his chair.

 

A slant of cheekiness entered Kuroko’s expression as he rested his thumb against one of the piercings beside his mouth, surveying Daiki thoughtfully across the table.

 

“I’m more in the practice of being stabbed by other things."

 

“No kidding,” Daiki said, allowing a grin to cross his face as he glanced over the detailed designs that spread over Kuroko’s skin. He got the impression that this time, Kuroko saw him looking, because he leaned forward deliberately and folded his arms on the table, as though showcasing the inky artwork inlaid on them.  

 

Daiki hadn’t gotten a good look at his right arm when he came in the first time, nor while he was watching him work before. It was just as bright and complex as his left, and featured a lot of the same color tones and symbols, including yet more vines snaking up from his wrist...but these ones gradually morphed into the green, scaly heads of serpents as they wound around the dark branches reaching up to his shoulder. Branches that bloomed into clusters of cherry blossoms, hanging in a patch of blue sky, shedding petals and raindrops that each refracted a full spectrum of colors, like so many tiny, glass prisms.

 

Each sleeve on its own was a masterpiece of imagery and careful attention to detail, and the both of them seemed to weave together a complicated tapestry that likely also hid some deeper definition of Kuroko as a person.

 

“Alright,” Kuroko said, pulling Daiki from his reverie as he waved a hand at the acquitted dahlias, “If you’re not willing to take those out, then perhaps you could substitute in something else. Something bright to contrast the darker colors...something yellow?”

 

“Yellow?” Daiki blinked, both because at least part of him was still distracted, and because that was a pretty uncommon request. Usually, he couldn’t _give_ the yellow flowers away, and got shot down whenever he suggested them to customers.

 

People who didn’t spend all day handling flowers always seemed to think they knew what looked best, somehow. In this case, though, he had to admit it was an interesting idea.

 

“Yes,” Kuroko said, “Right now the arrangement gives off a rather solemn, uniform appearance, and it may look even more flat in two dimensions. Just a hint of bright yellow would add a layer of complexity, I think.”

 

 _It’s supposed to be solemn,_ Daiki thought, but didn’t say out loud. He couldn’t find fault in what Kuroko said; the defensiveness was purely instinctual.

 

“Like daffodils...?” he mused after a moment, more to himself than his company. Early spring flowers, meant to signify growth and rebirth...a layer of complexity…

 

“That’s up to you,” Kuroko shrugged, the glossy strokes of ink on his arms shifting with the movement, “You probably know better than me.”

 

Daiki looked up in time to catch the flash of amusement on Kuroko’s face. Like he’d read his fucking mind. Honestly, it wouldn’t even surprise Daiki at this point to find out he could.

 

“So I should come back with...more flowers,” Daiki scowled, “My employees already think I’m sneaking out on dates during my lunch...”

 

“Speaking of which,” Kuroko interjected, still smiling faintly, “Isn’t your hour almost up?”

 

“Right,” Daiki sighed, checking the clock on the wall behind him, “What do I owe you?”

 

“I’m not charging you,” Kuroko said. Daiki blinked at him in surprise, and he lifted his colorful shoulders again, “We didn’t even get anything on paper today. Besides, I consider my time well spent.”

 

Daiki didn’t know what to say, and was keenly aware that his mouth was still hanging open, while those acute blue eyes surveyed him idly through long, pale lashes.

 

“...Okay,” he got out at last, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet, starting to gather his flowers together in preparation to leave. Kuroko continued watching him the entire time, unknown thoughts coming and going behind his now half-lidded eyes.

 

“Oh, by the way,” he prompted, as Daiki was adjusting the less-neatly rolled paper bundle in his arms. Daiki looked back at him on his way to the door.

 

A tiny smile flitted across his otherwise inscrutable face, “If you did, hypothetically, want to ask me on a date...next time bring me roses.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So as usual, I got carried waaaay away and this turned out longer than it was supposed to be. So much so that I decided to break it into two parts to keep from bombarding y'all with enormous blocks of text. What can I say. I got really attached to the idea, and then it kind of spun out of control and took on a life of its own. Tends to happen when I write.
> 
> Comments are a joy, as always, I'm working through the second half of this as we speak, and should have it up shortly.  
> Thanks for reading!


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